


주저하지 마

by d0ng_y0ung (justawks)



Series: strange but beautiful [1]
Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cyberpunk, IN SPACE!, M/M, Vampires, as is the cyberpunk, the vampirism is only implied in this one, work with me on this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justawks/pseuds/d0ng_y0ung
Summary: Normally Junhee could sleep away everything in the comfort of his plush bed—not strewn across the bench of whatever holding cell he appears to have made his home for the night. His brain is not fully online yet, hangover and poor sleep clouding his thoughts. He’s not quite at the point of panic but can feel it pressing against the edges of his mind. He doesn’t dothis, or at least he’s never done this before—spend the night in a holding cell—and he’s not quite sure where to go from here.Preoccupied with half-formed thoughts ofwhat if, it takes Junhee a few moments too long to notice there’s someone else in the cell with him.
Relationships: Kang Yuchan | Chan & Park Junhee | Jun, Kang Yuchan | Chan/Lee Donghun
Series: strange but beautiful [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187162
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	주저하지 마

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how vampires/other immortal beings can be a cool tool to evaluate history and social change, and then I started thinking about how most vampire stories I come across are set in modern times, and then I was like what about vampires in the _future_ , and now here we are. I have lots of other ideas bouncing around in my head ([dongjunchan](https://twitter.com/official_ACE7/status/1365896763513597957), anyone?) but this is all I have for now and I wanted to share. 
> 
> Also happy birthday Donghun! You can have a cyberpunk space vampire boyfriend, as a treat. 
> 
> Enjoy! xo

Junhee has maybe three blissful seconds in that wonderful space between waking and sleeping before the ache hits him all at once. His cheek is pressed against cold metal, neck contorted at the lack of a pillow, and his hands are bound tightly behind his back; his shoulders ache from the prolonged bind. 

He groans, throat hoarse, and feels the sound reverberate through sore ribs. There was a reason he didn’t go out clubbing that often; his low tolerance for anything stronger than a weak cider and his propensity for overenthusiastic dancing often left him regretful the next morning. 

(There are flashes of memory: _A crowded dance floor, half-naked bodies of all kinds writhing together. A sip of something glowing cyan that sent his vision into the fourth dimension. Then it is just sensations: warmth, biting cold, pressure all around._ Then nothing more.)

The sensations might not have been entirely new to him, but normally Junhee could sleep away everything in the comfort of his plush bed—not strewn across the bench of whatever holding cell he appears to have made his home for the night. His brain is not fully online yet, hangover and poor sleep clouding his thoughts. He’s not quite at the point of panic but can feel it pressing against the edges of his mind. He doesn’t do _this_ , or at least he’s never done this before—spend the night in a holding cell—and he’s not quite sure where to go from here. 

Preoccupied with half-formed thoughts of _what if_ , it takes Junhee a few moments too long to notice there’s someone else in the cell with him.

He manages to roll himself onto his side without painfully pinning his shoulder against the bench. He is in the process of bringing his knees up to his chest in an attempt to roll into some sort of seated position without hands when a voice rings out: “want some help?”

It’s a good thing there don’t seem to be any guards nearby, because the scream Junhee lets out might have been more fitting for a dying man. He startles, body reflexively jerking against his bindings and sending a shockwave from his shoulders down through his torso and arms. The side of his skull smashes back into the metal of the bench and he whimpers pitifully, just once, before falling silent and still in defeat. 

The figure in the corner—and he can make out the outline of him now, lithe form shrouded in shadow—unfurls himself from his hiding place, shaking loose long limbs and stepping into the weak light of the cell. 

“Sorry,” he offers with an impish grin, “I thought you knew I was here.”

He looks young, eyes boyish and round. His shoulders are broad and his arms are muscled, though, and it is difficult for Junhee to place his age. He’s never been good at guessing, and the recent uptick in mods have made it even harder to tell. This figure looks young, though, and unmodified as far as Junhee can see. He’s dressed in dark colors, close-fitting black trousers and a loose top that gapes open to show his collarbones. Black hair is cropped short and straight across his forehead. He looks like he belongs in a nightclub or on a stage, lids glittering gold and lips painted something dark and wine-stained. His wrists are unbound, somehow, and he reaches down with freed arms to help Junhee sit up on the bench. 

“First time?” he asks. Junhee nods slowly, unsure of what to make of this boy—this man? A thin chain glitters around his neck, a delicate cross hanging down against bare, golden chest. It’s almost archaic—no one wears old symbols like that anymore unless they’re some sort of Purist, but Purists don’t look comfortable in holding cells or go to nightclubs on the edge of systems. Junhee feels himself staring, can’t really help it. A warm hand cups his chin, far too familiar, and tilts his head until he meets bright, dark eyes.

“I was planning on heading home soon. You look a little…out of depth here. Would you like to join me?”

He pulls away suddenly and sensation floods back into Junhee. He hadn’t noticed the absence of the ache, or the pleasant warmth in his chest, until it was gone along with the touch of this mysterious figure. 

They stare at one another for a few long moments, nothing but silence between them. Something must shift in Junhee’s expression because the other man—the other boy—reaches a hand out. Junhee sucks in a sharp breath as delicate fingers trace the shell of his ear and momentarily cup the back of his neck before trailing down his back. The figure steps close, leaning over Junhee’s shoulder to reach behind him. He can smell his perfume, dark and floral, and feels a hand do _something_ to his cuffs before they are popped open. 

The figure steps away again. “You coming?” he asks again with an expressively arched eyebrow. 

The urge to say no is immediate. He can’t just _break out of jail_ , with a mesmerizing stranger no less. For a moment, Junhee’s mind begins to catalog all his pressing tasks, all the things he has to manage and the rules by which he must abide. But it’s only for a moment, and then the reality that none of those things matter any more clicks into place, and he finds himself shrugging with light, aching shoulders—unburdened for the first time in his admittedly short life. 

His companion gives him a knowing look—like he has seen that sort of shrug before—and jerks his head as a signal to follow behind him. Delicate hands reach through the bars of the cell and do something complicated with deft fingers; the padlock hits the packed dirt floor with a dull thud. Junhee stands on shaking legs. 

To the benefit of their escape, the hinges of the cell door are well-maintained. It swings open soundlessly. Again, no guards, but there don’t appear to be any live feeds either. No telltale red dots on the ceiling, no near-silent hum of a heat reader. 

Wordlessly, they creep across the hallway to peer through the doorway on the other side. There is no one in the front office either—in fact, there are no signs of life at all, no fuzz of a radio or bluish glow of a hand-comm. The still-nameless figure reaches back to grab Junhee’s hand, large palm warm and soft, and pulls him through the doorway and across the office. The front door is _right there_ , seemingly unmanned and unlocked. _Surely it can’t be this easy_ , Junhee finds himself thinking. _You can’t just break out of jail._

But it turns out you can just break out of jail, or at least this mysterious figure can. No figures pop out to stop them and no alarms ring shrilly as they push through the front door and spill out onto the empty street. It’s early, early morning—not that you can tell in the perpetual dusk of an edge-of-system moon like they’re on now. Hand still clasped in the grip of the mysterious stranger, Junhee mutters a quiet “thanks.” 

“No problem!” is the bright response. “I wasn’t kidding about going home either, but you don’t have to join me if you don’t want to.”

Again, the impulse to reject him. Again, the realization there is no longer anything holding Junhee back. Again, the silent acquiescence of a nod. 

The figure leads him confidently through unfamiliar streets. Hardly anyone is out, most likely still sleeping off the night before. Storefronts and market stalls are all shuttered, and the only figures they pass do not look up as they scurry by. After maybe 10 minutes of walking, although Junhee can’t be sure, the figure makes a pleased noise and gestures to a three-story apartment building before them.

The apartment is tucked away from the road, entrance buried within a short, dark alleyway between two taller storefronts. The mysterious figure from the holding cell has a skip in his step as he turns off the road and almost immediately disappears into the darkness.

Junhee follows, wary, and finds the sounds of the street disappear almost as soon as he is out of the artificial glow of the street lamps. The effect is so sudden that it has to be some sort of sound-dampening tool. He is surprised at how safe it makes him feel, like nothing can touch him here. 

The figure raps once-twice-thrice against the metal door, sound quickly swallowed by the dark and quiet of the alley. He reaches back to pull Junhee against his side. The door swings open after only a moment.

The man before him has a face unlike anything Junhee has seen before. His wide, expressive eyes have burgundy irises—either he’s wearing lenses or he’s had some very, _very_ expensive mods for them to look that seamless. His brows are angled, giving him an almost agonized expression despite the soft smile on his face. Caramel blond hair is pulled back from his forehead. 

The mysterious figure slips under the man’s arm and through the open door, skating a familiar hand across his stomach and hips as though to say hello. The two men make eye contact. They must exchange some sort of silent words, because soon the newer figure is turning back to Junhee. 

“I’m Donghun. This is Yuchan,” he offers simply. He widens his grin, catlike and predatory even as his sad eyes smile with him. 

“Please,” he offers in a surprisingly soft voice as he steps back from the doorway. “Come inside.”


End file.
